Friday, June 17, 2016

untrustworthy monthly column

Below, more or less, is the monthly column I submitted
to the local paper this month. It's flimsy and weak from where I sit, but it
was only a couple of days ago that I realized I had failed to meet my
third-Wednesday-of-every-month deadline and rushed to correct the error...
neglecting in the process the old rule, if you're not sure of what you're
saying, don't say it. Oh well, mediocrity is like old age ... stuck with the
farm. Which doesn't mean I have to like it. I am interested in
"trust," I had a few snippets kicking around and I used them.

***************************************************

Once, as an apartment-painter in New
York City, I asked the prolific writer and scientific
whiz kid Isaac Asimov for a letter of recommendation. I said that some of my
would-be customers asked for such recommendations and I figured Isaac's fame
could help me land a job and put spaghetti on my table.

Both of us were chuckling as we went into his office where
he batted out the recommendation. What a ridiculous exercise. It was like
asking a politician to suggest who might be best suited for the office s/he
wanted: Would the applicant provide anything less than the most sparkling
endorsement?

But I needed to eat and pay rent and if letters of
recommendation were the way to play the game, I would play. Still, petitioning
Isaac made me wonder about those who seem willing to trust the endorsement of
others more than -- or even as much as -- they trust their own. Trust is an odd
thing to hand over to someone else.

I felt comfortable asking Isaac for kudos, manufactured or
otherwise. I had painted for him and his wife, the former psychiatrist Janet
Jeppson, on several occasions. During lunch breaks filled with comfortable,
laughter-stitched banter, I usually had some question I wanted to ask Isaac
(what is zero? or what is the greatest-unknown in science? for example). The
conversation almost invariably ended with his saying, "I wrote a book
about that. Wait a sec -- I'll get you a copy." And he would.

Trust, however vague, is the realm in which anyone might
hope to relax, to feel assured, and to feel safe. Strange to notice that
distrust entails the same characteristics. Donald Trump, for example, instills
trust in those who rest assured in distrust

And trust, like the conversations with Isaac, can inspire
wry laughter. Sometimes it's downright ridiculous. Consider the "life
insurance" whose existence lacks all meaning until a dead body shows up.
Wouldn't "death insurance" be more appropriate? Or consider the
two-by-four which has not measured two-inches-by-four-inches for years. Or
consider the "Defense Department" which changed its name from the
"War Department" although making war remains its central concern
despite the "defense" it may lay claim to.

Yes, there is the ridiculous. And then there is the serious.
This is a season that angles for our trust. Trust Bernie. Trust Hillary. Trust
Donald. Nor is it just national politics. Trust the mayor. Trust your
neighbor. Trust your friend. Trust your enemy. Trust your spouse. Trust Angie's
List. Trust the government.

And there were serious aspects to trust as an ingredient in
the apartment-painting business. Over 13 years as an apartment painter, I
learned that potential customers were invariably reduced to their own best
guess: Did they trust me? I tried to be trust-worthy: I never missed an
appointment or if I did, I called to explain why. I didn't kick the cat or
steal the flatware. I showed up on time. I must have done a pretty good job
because one woman flew me to California
to paint her house out there and I received several calls from former customers
in New York after I had moved to Northampton:
"It's just the living room," they might say.

But trust was a two-way street. Not only did my customers
need to trust me. I needed to trust them. Over those 13 years, I learned that I
really didn't want to work for people I disliked. Money was important, but so
was an amiable environment. I learned, roughly, to steer clear of rich people:
People who were rich didn't get that way by being nice. Further, doctors,
lawyers, priests and cops were dubious prospects because each of those
professions entailed a dynamic in which the customer needed someone to be his
or her god. And if enough people ask you to be god on the basis of what you
know and what they don't, there is a tendency to start believing you are god
... which is never a good sign.

I never did put Isaac's letter of recommendation to use. But
I kept it as a reminder of a good chuckle and a sense that however compelling
the longing for trust may be, still, it's a best-guess world in which the
answer, right or wrong, lies no further away than your own gut.

And when it comes to being trust-worthy myself, I'll stick
with the small and smiling prayer, "May I become the person my dog
thinks I am."

1 comment:

My name is Adam Fisher. I live in Northampton, Mass., U.S.A. I have a wife and three children. This is my blog and consists of almost-daily postings -- sometimes (older) about the Zen Buddhism I have admired and practiced for something short of 50 years; sometimes about other 'spiritual' matters; and (more recently) about whatever strikes my fancy. Except to the extent that it might help others to consider what sort of fool they might prefer not to be, this blog does not aim to help anyone. Writing is an old and diminishing habit. It's what I do. Once upon a time, I built a zendo/meditation hall in the backyard here and invited people to come. The zendo is still there and my Dharma name is still "Genkaku" ("original realization" or "original understanding") but these days the formality of meditation has drained. Black Moon Zendo is still a good zendo, but I am 77 in 2017 ... creaky and disinclined. I honor those who make courageous journeys, but am hoist by my own observation that "Just because you are indispensable to the universe does not mean the universe needs your help." Best wishes to all. I can be contacted at genkakukigen@aol.com